He did not answer her at once but continued to pace the floor; at length he jerked out: 

“No, I was at fault too.  I’ve a nasty temper.  I should have had more patience with you, Evelyn—­but it was so hard to deny you anything you wanted that I could possibly give you—­I’d have laid the whole world at your feet if I could!”

“I believe you would, Marsh—­then!” she said.

“It’s a pity you didn’t understand me,” he answered indifferently.

Nothing he could say led in the direction he would have had it lead, for he wanted her to realize her part in what had happened, to know that the burden beneath which he had gone down was in a measure the work of her hands.  His instinct was as primitive as a child’s fear of the dark; he must escape from the horror of his isolation; his secret was made doubly terrifying because he knew he dared not share it with any living creature.  Yet his mind played strange tricks with him; he was ready to risk much that he might learn what part of the truth he could tell her; he was even ready to risk all in a dumb brute impulse to gather up the remnants of his strength of heart and brain, and be the center of some widespread catastrophe; to put his fear in her soul just as it was in his own.  How was she ever to comprehend the horror that held him in its cruel grasp, the thousand subtle shades of thought and feeling that had led up to this thing, from the memory of which he revolted!  He turned his bloodshot eyes upon her, something of the old light was there along with the new; he had indeed loved her, but the fruit of this love had been rotten.  He was silent, and again his heavy tread resounded in the room as he dragged himself back and forth.

The force in him was stirring her.  Sensation of any sort had always made its strong appeal to her.  Without knowing what was passing in his mind she yet understood that it was some powerful emotion, and her pliant nerves responded.  For the moment she forgot that she no longer loved him.  She rose and went to his side.

“Is it all my fault, Marsh?” she said.

“What is your fault?” he asked, pausing.

“That we are so unhappy; am I the only one at fault there?”

He looked down into her face relentingly.

“I don’t know—­I swear I don’t know!” he said hoarsely.

“What is it, Marsh—­why are you so unhappy?  Just because you love me? 
What an unkind thing to say!”

He turned to the table to pour himself a drink, but she caught his hand.

“For my sake, Marsh!” she entreated.

Again he looked down into her eyes.

“For my sake,” she repeated softly.

“By God, I’ll never touch another drop!” he said.

“Oh, you make me so happy!” she exclaimed.

He crushed her in his arms until his muscles were tense.  She did not struggle for release, but abandoned herself without a word to the emotion of the moment.  Her head thrown back, her cheeks pale, her full lips smiling, she gazed up into his face with eyes burning with sudden fire.